


That Summer

by SeaWallFics



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: But she gets over it quickly!, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/F, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Minor Character Death, Tiny amount of implied internalized homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29106564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaWallFics/pseuds/SeaWallFics
Summary: After getting caught kissing the minister's daughter, twenty-two year old Tobin is sent away for the summer. Destination? Torrey, Utah, where she moves in with none other than Christen Press, a thirty-one year old recently widowed woman who has her own share of burdens to carry.Will they be able to find common ground between them and maybe even something more?
Relationships: Mentions of Christen/OMC (beard), Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 28
Kudos: 143





	1. Bumfuck, USA

She's on a Greyhound bound for Bumfuck, USA, trying to fight off sleep as the monotonous of tires on blacktop threatens to pull her into a long overdue slumber. She's had a rough couple of weeks. Between tumbling out of the closet – right in front of her God fearing father – and the consequences of such an unfortunate event, she can't help but feel grateful for the little trip she's taking, even if she's headed for the middle of nowhere for who knows how long. Between her very angry father and her very disappointed mother, Tobin Heath has been to hell and back, so Bumfuck, USA, sounds like a step up from all of that at any rate.

She's picked up by a friend of the family. The man she meets at the bus station could be her father's brother. He cuts the same imposing figure, Tobin thinks while she looks him up and down. He's about six foot five and the charcoal colored three piece suit he's wearing makes him look quite severe. Or maybe that's just the scowl on his face and the judgement in his eyes, she sniggers to herself. This man clearly knows who she is and what she did to deserve an all expenses paid trip to this one horse town. He doesn't even have the decency to introduce himself before ordering her to follow him to his car. With a deep sigh, she picks up the duffel bag by her feet and does as she's told, jogging after the epitome of rudeness to catch up with his long strides across the parking lot, accepting that it's going to be a long and hopeless summer.

She's relieved to discover she won't be staying with this "friend" of the family. This guy really wigs her out with his pasty skin and stony features. She hopes they’ll soon get where they're going. She's been traveling all day. She could stand a shower and a hot meal before falling into bed and forget this day – and the thirty or so before this one – altogether.

A few minutes before reaching their destination, he explains where he's taking her. She's to stay with a recently widowed woman who needs a hand around the house for the summer. It's all the information she gets and Tobin really isn't interested in hearing more from this man. She just hopes the little old lady she's staying with is at least a bit more interesting than this dude with his gloomy disposition.

Ten minutes later she mentally slaps herself – twice for good measure – hearing her mother's voice in the back of her mind telling her to always be careful what you wish for. She knows homosexuality is a hard concept to grasp for those not in the know, but do they really expect her to get over her ‘unnatural inclinations’ while shacking up with what has to be one of the most gorgeous women she's ever had the pleasure to meet in real life? From her sad green eyes to her shy smile, Tobin greedily takes in every lovely feature while she's waiting to be introduced. The woman's voice alone is enough to have her quaking in her Nike's and when she kindly sandwiches a slightly trembling hand between her own in greeting, Tobin unexpectedly finds herself wishing for an endless summer in the company of Ms. Christen Press.

~

Bumfuck, USA is actually Torrey, Utah, a tiny town near Capitol Reef National Park, a little over two hundred miles south of Salt Lake City. Surrounding it are mostly meadows and lakes with lush green pine forests growing in the valleys of impressive red canyons. She can't wait to go hiking someday soon, her hands yearning for the trusty weight of her camera while she makes mental notes of sights she'll want to revisit. The homestead she's staying at could use a little attention, but she's guessing that's where her extra set of hands comes in. It's not dilapidated, but it has sure as heck seen better days.

When Lurch leaves her in the very capable hands of Ms. Press – his words, not hers – Tobin finally feels like she can breathe again. She’s been living under a microscope for over a month with parents, siblings and townsfolk alike scrutinizing her every step. That's what canoodling with the minister’s daughter behind the pipe organ gets ya, her father's voice hisses in the back of her mind. The memory of his crazed and stone cold eyes sends a shiver down her spine, but what really gets her – what hurts the most – is how Alex let her take the fall. Upon discovery the girl had beaten a hasty retreat, tearfully apologizing for her sinful behavior and begging for forgiveness. She has a fiancé now. A good Christian boy who's well educated and clean cut and Tobin has no doubt there'll be a wedding soon. She doesn't expect an invitation.

She is invited, however, to eat dinner with Christen. Tobin's lured down the stairs by the woman's soft spoken request to join her at the kitchen table where a small feast awaits. Taking in every dish, Tobin's mouth practically waters at the sight of homemade mashed potatoes and the huge pan of beef stew sitting right in front of her. Christen accepts Tobin's genuine gratitude with a bashful smile, playfully warning her house guest to not expect such meals every night of the week unless she cooks them herself. Tobin quirks an eyebrow while answering Christen's smile with a grin of her own. Challenge accepted, Tobin thinks as she watches Christen ladle a spoonful of stew onto her plate. It isn't until she's halfway through her mashed potatoes that she realizes she hasn't said grace before digging in. She'll do it after. Or she could just pray a little longer before bed tonight to make up for it. Satisfied with her backup plan, Tobin relaxes back into her chair, finishing her food with gusto while Christen fills her in on things to do around the homestead. She knows her stay in Torrey is supposed to feel like punishment, like prison, but a sudden sense of freedom swells inside of her and when she looks up at the charming chatterbox to her left, Tobin can't help but think that all of this – this woman, this town, this _change_ – is happening for a reason.

~

Three days into her stay, it's safe to say that Tobin has a crush. She knows how inappropriate her thoughts are about the thirty one year old lady of the house, but Christen Press is undeniably beautiful and her penchant for wearing dresses fulfills a need Tobin never knew existed inside of her before now. It's the only need that Christen will meet this summer, Tobin acknowledges with a wistful sigh. Nothing can happen and nothing will, but it doesn't stop the pitter-patter of Tobin's heart whenever Christen saunters up to her with a tall glass of this or a small plate of that. And if Tobin begs for a second helping of ice cold water while kneeling down in red dirt and dust as she expertly mends split rail fences, then she can easily pretend it's the heat from the unforgiving high noon sun parching her throat and certainly not the pretty pair of tan legs entering her vision at a most opportune angle. She has to convince herself that it's nothing more than a harmless crush as her eyes take in the motion of thinly veiled hips teasing the butter soft jersey of an often worn summer dress. Yep, just a harmless crush.

The first week ends with homemade pizza and a thoroughly destroyed Tobin half asleep at the kitchen table. With her eyes barely open, she hums her way through her fourth slice of pepperoni Parmesan, completely missing the looks of endearment Christen shoots her from the other side of the table. She can't believe how easily she's getting used to the college student’s presence around the homestead. Tobin is kind, honest and smart and incredibly hardworking. She reminds Christen of her late husband, may his soul rest in eternal freedom.

As always, thinking of Ben brings a sad smile to her face. It's been fifteen months since his passing and Christen still misses him every single day. He'd been her best friend. Her confidant. He'd saved her in ways she never should've allowed him to. He'd given up his freedom in order to protect her from having to give up her own, making a pact to set each other free when circumstances would allow for it. She still cries over the fact that Ben didn't get to live and love freely before his passing and Christen hates herself for letting him make such a sacrifice. To pay her dues, she's determined to stick it out in Torrey, imprisoning herself in the home they shared and in the lie they were living. In his honor, she'll give up for him what he gave up for her. The freedom to be herself and to one day live a life away from this godforsaken town and to do it without fear or shame. To finally break free and let herself feel the love of another woman. _For_ another woman. It's too late now. She no longer covets the freedom Ben will never have. She's not that selfish. She leads a fairly simple life now without complications. It'll have to do for this lifetime.

However tired she is, Tobin still tunes into Christen's subdued demeanor, clearing her throat to draw the clearly distracted woman's attention back to the present. "Are you okay?"

Christen nods as her sad smile turns apologetic. "I am. Sorry for spacing out on you. I guess I'm just really tired."

Tobin watches her in mild concern, not quite convinced by Christen's words, but she plays along just the same. They haven't really talked much this past week, most evenings ending with eating dinner, doing dishes and either one or both of them claiming exhaustion before hitting the hay. Having heard Christen pace her bedroom floor most nights, she wonders if the other woman ever really sleeps. The quiet hours – the _lonely_ hours – must be so hard for her after losing her husband. The thought reminds her that Christen's obviously still in mourning and Tobin's only purpose is to help the young widow get back on her feet. Right before she falls asleep that night to the steady rhythm of Christen's footfalls, Tobin prays for guidance and the strength to spend eight more weeks with the troubled spirit across the hall and then leave this place with her heart intact.

Tobin's up before the sun the next morning, hoping to have breakfast on the table before Christen comes down. Tobin knows how to cook. Her mother taught her well. A good, obedient wife takes care of her husband, making sure the house is clean and dinner's on the table when he gets home every night, or so Tobin's been told many a time. She doesn't remember all of her mother's housekeeping do's and don'ts, but she remembers how to make fluffy pancakes and fluffier omelets, mixing in a good handful of chopped tomatoes and fresh herbs with the eggs to satiate Christen's need for a healthy, hearty start of her day. With a pot of coffee already made and the plates out on the table, all Tobin can do is wait. She'd love to be in a position where it wouldn't be the creepiest thing ever to sneak up the stairs and wake a peacefully sleeping Christen, but she's not. So she's just going to park her butt in one of the kitchen chairs and eagerly wait for her guest of honor to arrive. It's just a small thank you for taking Tobin in and treating her well. Making breakfast is the least she can do, but the best she can do for now. One day, Tobin will find a way to properly return the favor, but a yummy omelet will have to do the job in the meantime. Turns out, Christen _loves_ when people cook for her, humming appreciatively with every bite of pancake and/or omelet. Turns out, her prayers for guidance and strength are no match against the sounds Christen makes while she thoroughly loves on her breakfast. Tobin's screwed.

After breakfast, they find their way into Torrey for groceries. As Christen handles her beat up Chevy Silverado like a pro, Tobin wonders if this is the Lord's way of testing her. Watching a woman change gears should _not_ arouse a person, but Tobin can't help but notice how Christen's muscles shift underneath the bronzed skin of her forearm as she wills the stick into 2H and it has her damn near salivating in the passenger seat. She'd laugh at her lot in life if it weren't so darn depressing. Staring straight ahead, Tobin clenches her jaw as well as her fists, completely ignoring the woman to her left as she thinks how incredibly well this punishment fits her crime. Screwed indeed, with still a whopping fifty six days of this particular brand of misery to go.

Halfway into the second week of her stay, Tobin can't help but think she isn't the only one with a wandering eye. Christen has her off balance constantly. The woman's sweet as pie, extremely smart and – yes, she may have mentioned this before – _the_ most beautiful creature Tobin's ever witnessed walking the earth. She wants to ask why Christen's wasting her life away in Torrey, but they don't know each other well enough for Tobin to ask such personal questions. Maybe later. More likely never. Tobin has no idea how to talk to Christen without sounding like a schoolgirl with a crush. She wants the inside scoop on this mysterious, warm-hearted woman, but Tobin doesn't know how to reach her or if she's even equipped to reach her at all. And what if she does? And what if she likes what she learns? And what if it makes her like Christen even more than she already does? Tobin already sort of knows the answers to all those questions. It's why she feels the need to level the playing field somewhat. It's why she needs to find out if it's her imagination playing tricks on her or if Christen really seems to seek her out more when Tobin's wearing tank tops and cutoff jeans shorts around the homestead.

She thinks she's caught her staring once or twice. Blushing. Fleeing when Tobin's gaze finds curious eyes tracing her form from afar, only for her to graciously reappear minutes later with apple slices or a glass of homemade iced tea. Tobin knows she's not imagining it, but she does wonder what it means. She doesn't want to mistake Christen's generosity for anything else than what it truly is, acknowledging the fact that it may very well be a case of wanting something badly enough to fantasize it into existence. Christen was, after all, married to a man. But, Tobin wishfully thinks, that doesn't mean she can't be attracted to the female species. Sexuality is fluid. Bisexuality is a thing. She's grasping at straws here and she knows it, but if there's any chance at all of having a shot with Christen, Tobin will do anything to grab that chance. _Anything._

Throughout the week, Tobin makes sure to keep an eye out for Christen around the premises. Summer in Torrey drives temperatures up high enough to warrant a minimum amount of clothing. She's not ashamed to admit that there's not much fabric covering her body while doing chores at any given moment of the day. While chopping wood in a sports bra and shorts may seem unsafe (which it is), it certainly gains her a lot of attention from an obviously flustered audience of one across the yard. It's cute how Christen tries to look busy with a trowel and a hand rake, having made no progress whatsoever for the twenty minutes or so she's been sitting there. She's wearing a straw sun hat, but the wide brim doesn't exactly hide her peeping eyes from the world, something Tobin's immensely grateful for. Grinning widely, she swings down the axe on the last log of the pile, splitting it easily. Her back muscles are already protesting – they will certainly hate her tomorrow – but her pride tells them to shut up when she catches Christen getting to her feet and making her way over. With sweat rolling down her popping biceps, Tobin moves to meet her in the shade of the unused hen house, grateful to be out of the sun for a few moments.

Christen takes her sweet time mapping the drops of perspiration running down from Tobin's neck into the modest cleavage of her sports bra, the dark fabric soaking up every bit of the saline moisture produced by Tobin's hard work. There's a hint of a blush on tan cheeks, a necessary clearing of a throat before being able to speak before Christen, yet again, speed walks away from her under the guise of getting them both ‘a little sustenance’. Tobin watches her go, her eyes betraying a need no amount of sustenance will be able to satiate, not knowing whether to feel guilty for her less than innocent thoughts or to rejoice over the fact that Christen's behavior decidedly hints at interest and attraction. Now that her suspicions are confirmed, Tobin doesn't really know what to do with that information. She doesn't even know if Christen's aware of how her eyes seem to seek out and follow Tobin around all the time. She doesn't want to put any pressure on the situation or manipulate it, knowing grief is just as bad a motivator as fear is. If anything is going to happen, Tobin decides, Christen will have to make the first move.

~

In the late afternoon of the second week's Friday, Christen suggests an end of the day picnic in a pretty little clearing on the banks of Fremont River. Hugging a plaid fleece blanket against her tummy with both arms, Christen guides them to her desired destination while Tobin totes a wicker basket in one hand and a small cooler in the other. Her stomach's already growling to be filled with the grilled chicken Christen prepared this afternoon, the heavenly smell of rosemary and orange teasing her every time she'd passed the open kitchen windows. She'd begged for a taste, breaking out the puppy dog eyes and full on pout, but Christen had playfully scolded her for her bribing ways, then had proceeded to school her on the risks of undercooked chicken meat and salmonella with a twinkle in her eye and a pretty smile pulling up the corners of that wide mouth and those full pink lips. Tobin's subsequent speechlessness and altogether uselessness had left them both grinning and blushing like fools, with Tobin – for once – being the one having to flee the scene lest she do something as heedless as making the first move. She's hungry for so many things these days, but tonight she'll settle for grilled chicken sandwiches, a paper cup of white Zinfandel and sharing a blanket with the woman she literally aches for.

Their evening proves to be fruitful in terms of getting to know each other. Tobin suspects the shared bottle of wine has something to do with it, but two cups in she's hardly tipsy and Christen hasn't even finished her first yet. During a tame game of twenty questions, they stick to the likes of favorite color and favorite band, both seemingly very afraid of crossing unmarked boundaries. It's one innocent question after the next, until Christen decides to spice things up – just a little – around her fifteenth turn and that's when their evening suddenly takes a completely different turn.

"First kiss?" Christen queries, looking away from Tobin while she asks.

Tobin lifts an eyebrow, surprised by the topic of Christen's question, but not thrown off by it. She sort of hopes Christen's angling for information of a more … personal kind, but if that's the case, this particular answer will reveal nothing of the sort. "Bobby Davis, in his parents' tool shed," Tobin offers with a smug little grin, just knowing this is not what Christen wanted to hear. She watches as a frown finds its way on Christen's face before their eyes meet.

"How old were you?"

"Is this your next question?" Tobin taunts her. "Because I think it's my turn."

Rolling her eyes at the college student's childlike behavior, Christen gestures for her to go ahead. Tobin's question catches her off guard, even though she should've seen it coming.

"So," Tobin addresses her with the most innocent smile and mischievous eyes. "First kiss?"

Sitting there in that lovely little clearing – a warm breeze toying with dark flyaways and the low hum over an overhead plane in the air – Christen carefully considers what to tell Tobin and which parts she wants to keep to herself. It may be the cup and a half of Zinfandel in her system or maybe it's the woman across from her watching her with warm and understanding eyes, but the moment she starts talking, Christen can't seem to stop.

"My first kiss was with Ben, the man I married." It comes out as a statement and for a few seconds after, Tobin thinks that's all she's going to get for an answer. As a heavy blanket of sadness seems to envelope Christen, Tobin could kick herself for unknowingly broaching the painful subject. She wants to apologize. Tell Christen she doesn't have to talk about it if she doesn't want to, but the quiet determination in those now blazing green eyes tell Tobin that maybe this is what is supposed to happen tonight. That talking about this – her husband, his death – is exactly what Christen needs right now. Moving their cups and leftovers out of the way, Tobin moves across the blanket to sit a little closer. To offer a little bit of comfort if it's welcomed. Christen's mind is whirring, Tobin can tell, looking for a place to start, it seems. With the sun about to sink behind Cohab Canyon, Christen finally finds the words to adequately express her thoughts and feelings. She pleads with Tobin to let her finish before asking questions, too afraid that interruptions will make her want to stop and while she knows it'll hurt, Christen also knows she can't keep it all in forever. Who knows, maybe after tonight, she'll finally get a full night’s sleep again.

She tells Tobin of her wedding day and her first and only kiss with Ben on that very same day. She comes clean on her marriage of convenience – _of protection_ – to a man who deserved so much more than to spend his short life on earth with a woman while he so clearly had wanted to spend it with a man. She lets Tobin in on Ben's secret, but not her own. Not yet. She needs a little more time before speaking a truth she has barely acknowledged to herself for the better part of her adult life. She's ashamed. Of her sexuality, partly, but mostly of what she's taken from Ben and she lets herself cry for the freedom she finds in finally sharing bits and pieces of her life with her make believe husband, nearly crawling into Tobin's lap when strong arms find their way around her exhausted and grief stricken frame.

Pressed up against Tobin for warmth and comfort, Christen finally admits out loud – through a whisper – that she's like Ben. Like Tobin, because she knows why Tobin is spending her summer in Torrey. She admits to being scared and not really knowing why, because she's already lost her family over it and the only person who's ever really loved her for _her_ is dead and buried. Not even Ben's passing had been able to soften her parents’ attitude towards her, sending back the unopened invitation to his memorial service with a callous "Return to sender" inked on the envelope in her father's handwriting. She'd never felt so alone as when she'd stood in that church, next to Ben's casket with only a few dear friends in attendance, saying goodbye to the only true friend she'd ever had.

It's when she stops talking that she notices how close she's sitting to Tobin. It feels good to be held with so much compassion. So much strength. It makes her shiver for completely different reasons which makes her realize the intimacy of their embrace and how she can't decide between wanting to stay like this forever and wishing she'd never known what being held like this feels like at all. Tobin isn't here to stay and Christen knows it. She's being selfish again, wanting sweet and wonderful Tobin all to herself and she's seen what her selfishness can lead to. Tobin wasn't made for small town life and Christen has no intention of leaving this place. Besides, what could a twenty two year old college student possibly want with a closeted widow, ten years her senior, who's afraid of her own shadow?

At most, they'll have an affair. A fling. It'll become something seedy and salacious for Tobin to boast about during frat parties or games of drunk ‘Never have I ever’ with girls her own age in a college town far away from Torrey, Utah. Giving into Tobin – yes, she's aware of the girl's antics and what she wants them to lead to – is the worst idea ever, yet Christen can't bring herself to nix it completely and that's yet another thing that scares her. Wanting Tobin and knowing she can have her is a heady concept, but what happens after? What happens when Tobin eventually, inevitably, leaves? What then? Will Christen be able to return to her desolate existence, comforted only by memories of what once was and dreams of what never will be? Does she want to take that risk? Right now, being held so securely by the woman she can't help but want, the answer to that question comes to her easily. Yes, Christen thinks as Tobin mindlessly presses her lips against the clammy skin of Christen's forehead. She really wants to take that risk.

~

Life at the homestead doesn't change dramatically after Christen's breakdown slash epiphany. Tobin's even more considerate than usual and there are days that it makes Christen want to scream that she's not fragile and there's no need to be so goddamn careful all the time. Tobin's still looking her fill, but it's not as blatant and unapologetic as before and is it bad that Christen wants to go back to that? Her whole life she's been treated like a Ming vase by so many people telling her how beautiful and precious she is, with not a single person daring to come close enough to touch her. To make her feel something real. And now Tobin's starting to become one of those people treating her like something so easily shattered. It infuriates her. She wants to feel those eyes on the hemline of her summer dress. She wants to see their beautiful brown irises darken with barely restrained desire the moment she steps close enough to catch the shift in colors. She's of half a mind to strip down and run circles around the henhouse in her birthday suit just to see if the softness in Tobin's gaze will ever make room for want again. She wouldn't, of course, but boy, does she like imagining Tobin's face if she would.

On the Saturday of week number three Christen's over it. She can't blame Tobin for keeping a little distance after last week's meltdown, but after seven days of polite conversation about the weather and not much else, she's done. After dinner, she excuses herself, telling a thoroughly confused Tobin to leave the dishes for tomorrow while she stalks out of the kitchen and right up the stairs. Moments later, Tobin hears the bang of a door followed by the familiar sounds of water rushing through the old pipes of the homestead's plumbing system. Christen is taking a shower, so now Tobin should find something to fill her mind with literally anything else but images of Christen taking a shower, but it's not as easy as it sounds. All week long, she's tried her damnedest to avoid staring at bare legs and bare shoulders out of respect for Christen and what she's going through, but something tells her she's screwing up. As the week progressed, Christen seemed frustrated and annoyed with her, making Tobin try even harder to keep her traitorous eyes from straying below the neckline and staying far, _far_ away from unsafe topics of conversation. She's learning a lot about all kinds of clouds and the type of rain they carry and she'll bet Christen twenty bucks she can predict a thunderstorm just by looking at the color of the sky. She'll win that bet, for sure.

Lost in thoughts of things she could've possibly done wrong, Tobin initially misses Christen's reappearance. Not for long though, because Christen brushes past her in the shortest shorts known to mankind. Making her way to the coffeemaker, she leaves behind a sweet smelling scent of freshly applied perfume and the familiar waft of her coconut shampoo. Is she trying to kill Tobin? What is the meaning of this? How in the world does she expect Tobin to not look where those shorts end exactly and did she really have to wear a shirt that tight?

"Coffee?" Christen offers, her amusement clearly audible. While she's not even close to ready to properly seduce her house guest, she enjoys making a move like this. It feels like a tiny step towards the freedom Tobin tells her she absolutely deserves.

"Huh?" It sounds more like a grunt than anything else, really, but Tobin's brain stopped working the moment it registered a) legs and b) butt. The list will be much longer tomorrow, but Christen's shapely behind in those shorts sort of takes up all the GB's of her RAM and now all her processes are freezing.

"Coffee?" Christen tries again, throwing a coy look over her shoulder, catching Tobin in the act of ogling her rump with quite a bit of dedication. Diligent as ever, Christen snickers at Tobin's single minded focus while she scoops enough beans into the machine to make two cups, accepting – for now – that Tobin.exe has stopped working. It's when she turns to face Tobin fully that the other woman finally unfreezes, yet refuses to meet Christen's eyes. There's a very pronounced redness to her cheeks, something that endears her to Christen all the more. 

Mission accomplished for tonight, she pours out two cups of coffee. Stepping closer to Tobin than circumstances call for, she pushes the hot beverage into Tobin's hand, making an effort to slide her fingertips over the nervously trembling digits gripping the coffee cup. "Drink up," Christen tells her with a cheeky smile. "It's better when it's hot." She has no idea where the words come from but it must be from the same place giving birth to her sudden brazenness. Sprinting out of the kitchen, leaving a stunned Tobin behind, she drops her head into her hands as her body drops into the couch. "Christen Annemarie Press," she hears herself muttering. "What on earth is going on with you?"

  
  
  



	2. learning to fly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of feelings, a bit of drama, a bit of progress.

Christen stiffens when she hears Tobin come in from the kitchen. She doesn't look up, purposely avoiding meeting Tobin's eyes with her own. She's afraid of having to explain herself, but she doesn't even really know what brought on her bout of confidence. Deep down she has all the answers, of course, but there's a big difference between _knowing_ she's attracted to women and finding herself in a position of _experiencing_ such an attraction to women. Well, it's just one woman, but Christen already can't stop her imprisoned libido from contemplating jailbreak and she's only just met Tobin. And it's not that there'd been any doubt left on the matter, but meeting her has certainly proven Christen's theory on her own suspected sexuality, hasn't it? Being confronted by it in such undeniable ways takes a little getting used to.

She feels the telltale dip in the couch, the creak of leather giving away the fact that Tobin's now sitting beside her. Does she want an explanation? Did Christen take it too far? Should she apologize? She'll have to acknowledge the patiently waiting woman next to her to find out, won't she? Sitting there in just those shorts and just that top makes her very self conscious all of a sudden. Naked. It makes her want to run upstairs and change into her flannel pajama bottoms and the thickest cable knit sweater she owns.

"Why are you hiding in here?" Tobin asks and if Christen's not mistaken, there's a hint of amusement sounding through in her voice, making Christen think she really _did_ make a fool of herself. Apologies are in order then.

"I'm sorry," Christen murmurs, unable to look Tobin's way. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I have no idea where that came from."

"You didn't," Tobin tries to ease Christen's worried mind. "Make me uncomfortable, I mean." At this, Christen finally finds the courage to look up. She finds Tobin watching her with a crooked little grin on her face. "You surprised me for sure and I'm a little confused, but I'm not uncomfortable. Like, _at all_. I don't need you to apologize. Okay?" Christen nods – a little reluctantly – because now _she's_ confused as well and she still can't quite figure out what Tobin’s thinking or feeling.

"I gotta know, though," Tobin adds. "Were you trying to flirt with me?"

The nerve behind that question – the _cheek_ – has Christen hiding her face again while a groan of utter embarrassment leaves her mouth. "If you have to _ask_ ," she mumbles into the palms of her hands, letting that statement speak for itself.

Tobin's body gently shakes with quiet laughter, Christen picking up on the movement vibrating through the couch cushions. She doesn't like being laughed at – who does? – and it usually infuriates her, but the low chuckle triggers a smile of her own and it only serves to remind her how smitten she is and how every little discovery about Tobin has her speeding down the track she's on towards falling in love. How something so dangerous can feel so liberating at the same time is something Christen has a hard time wrapping her mind around, but it also pushes her to think that maybe it's time to let her heart take over the decision making for a while. Just to see where it'll lead her. There are still a lot of things that worry her. Things she's not all that certain about. Things that she never would've even _considered_ mere weeks ago. The one certainty she has, though, is the fact that all those things are somehow tied into the woman lounging next to her and she wants a try at every single one of them.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Christen confesses. "I feel like I'm caught in a whirlwind and I have no idea how to escape it or if I even _want_ to. I don't think I've ever felt like this."

Tobin mulls those words over for a second, hoping she's the whirlwind. Wanting to make sure. "Like what?"

Christen takes a moment to contemplate her answer, but she knows what she's feeling and she knows exactly how to describe it. "Like I'm running towards the edge of a cliff and instead of being scared, I can't wait to feel that weightlessness. You keep telling me I deserve that freedom and now I can't stop thinking about it."

"And after you jump?" Tobin pushes, half afraid of being too nosy. "What happens then?"

Christen finds herself staring at Tobin, not really knowing what she's searching for. She hasn't looked into those pretty brown eyes enough times yet to know what's going inside that busy brain. She's really going to have to take the first step, isn't she? She's going to have to risk it.

"I'm hoping that you'll be there to take that plunge with me," Christen tells her as she takes one of Tobin's hands between her own.

The answer surprises Tobin. She'd expected Christen to say something along the lines of hoping Tobin to catch her, but diving off of a cliff together sounds a lot more exhilarating in Tobin's book. It also sounds unexpected and a little unsafe. Did Christen really think this through? "We could hit the rocks," Tobin warns her, meaning to assure the both of them that this is what Christen wants.

"We could," Christen concurs. "But we could also hit the water. And if we don't survive the jump, at least I'll finally know what freedom feels like."

Tobin knows what Christen means. Knows that the lonely young widow dreams of freeing herself from the shackles of her prejudiced family and the stares and whispers following her around this heartbreak town. But Tobin can't help but wonder if it's really _her_ Christen wants or if any passing stranger would have sufficed. Before this goes any further, she needs to know there's more to Christen's decision than being in the right place at the right time.

"Are you sure about this? I don't want to be just an experiment for you." Her voice trembles a bit with rising emotions, the lump in her throat making the words sound gruff. 

Tobin's vulnerability touches Christen deeply. She squeezes the hand still held between her own, hoping to reassure while she gathers her thoughts. "I understand why you'd think that, but that's not what's happening here. You are sweet and kind and caring and the good Lord wrapped up all those wonderful qualities in a very impressive package," Christen admits with flushed cheeks and a hesitant grin. "I may not have a lot of experience being attracted to women, but I know myself well enough to recognize the feeling. I'm not confused anymore, Tobin. I want this. With you."

It's weird, Tobin thinks to herself, how having a dream come true feels a lot like she's still dreaming. She had a lucid dream once, so she's not all that sure this isn't a repeat of that particular phenomenon. She focuses on her hand, the one still caught between Christen's, and how warm it feels. She closes her eyes – briefly, to steady herself – and nearly loses herself in the clean, fresh scent of Christen's tangerine body wash. With her eyes shut, she imagines tracing her nose up and down the tan skin of Christen's neck before pressing her lips behind the inviting angle of a prominent jaw bone. She opens her eyes on a noticeable exhale, immediately catching Christen's questioning gaze as if to ask her what makes her sigh like that. It's too soon to wander down that path, so Tobin keeps those thoughts to herself, forcing her mind to focus on the present.

"If you're sure," Tobin acknowledges Christen's affirmation, "then I'll gladly take that plunge with you." Under any other circumstance, Tobin would've leaned in to seal their resolution with a kiss, but Christen has her shy and uncertain about it. She lets the moment pass. Turns her hand instead to slide her fingers between Christen's, squeezes softly to catch her attention. To the outside world, they must look ridiculous with their blushing cheeks and face splitting smiles, but it's a perfect moment for the both of them. One not even a kiss could possibly improve.

Bed time finds them in separate rooms, blushes and smiles still very much intact, as the promise of becoming something more fills them with giddy anticipation. As usual, Tobin's eyes are the first set to close over as Christen's repetitive ten paces up, ten paces down hypnotize her into a dreamless sleep. Down the hallway, for the first time in over a year, Christen finds herself in the same state of unconsciousness, her worn out body and ever active mind finally getting some much needed rest.

~

Come morning, Tobin's treated to an empty kitchen. Listening for sounds around the house and finding none, she determines Christen isn't inside. Fear grips her for a heartbeat, but she wills it away just as quickly. Christen's words from last night — the certainty in them — linger in the forefront of her mind as she goes through the motions necessary to make coffee. With Christen being brave enough to have planted the seed, Tobin should honor that bravery by showing Christen her willingness to watch it bud and flourish. Show faith and trust in the fact that it will, even if it's for just the remaining weeks of Tobin's stay. Even knowing it'll wither and fade away at the end of summer, she wants to watch it come to life and worship it in its prime. No matter how painful their inevitable goodbye will be, that hurt will never outweigh the desolation of never knowing what Christen's lips feel like against her own. Tobin would never forgive herself for denying her fingers the chance to run through Christen's curls or glide them up and down tangerine scented skin. When she leaves Torrey, Utah, it'll probably be with a broken heart, but every shard will be filled with memories (mistakes?) she can't help but want to make.

The squeak of the screen door swinging open has her startled, but it comes at precisely the right moment. Given enough time to ponder matters of the heart, she's likely to retreat. To stand still and wallow. She doesn't have time for that. Won't allow herself to spend the precious moments in Christen's presence in doubt or in stasis. She's determined to make the best of her time here and there's no time like the present. Filling two mugs with freshly brewed coffee, she turns to Christen with a grin, ready to start making memories.

Christen blushes cutely when Tobin's eyes find her own. It only serves to broaden the latter woman's smile as she takes in Christen's appearance with obvious appreciation. They exchange a quiet 'Good morning' as Christen relieves Tobin of one of the cups still in her hands. Christen's added 'Thank you, Tobin' does things to the college student's heart that a simple offering of gratitude has no business causing, but it just goes to show how everything about this woman touches her, her sweet voice included (and a top 3 feature for sure). 

~

Week four sees them trying to find a balance between knowing what they want and their mutual insecurities about acting upon that wisdom. They seek each other out all day, whether it be Christen tracking down Tobin around the homestead to feed and water her or Tobin coming to find Christen to ask questions about her chores she already knows the answers to. Unsure of the other's boundaries, their intimacy in those moments never stretches beyond a wink or a playful raise of an eyebrow when either one of them gets caught staring.

The days pass by quickly as they flirt their way through them and before they know it, yet another balmy Friday finds them seated at the kitchen table with Tobin saying grace as Christen watches on. When she's finished, Christen asks her a question that's been plaguing her for years now.

"Do you really believe God approves of people like us?"

"I do," Tobin answers immediately, even though the question seems to come out of left field. "I believe God is love," she continues. "And I believe we were created in His own image and that He makes no mistakes."

Christen's hum is in acknowledgment, not in agreement. It's clear she's not totally sold on Tobin's interpretation of the verses she's quoting. "Is it worth losing your family over?" She whispers the question, afraid of upsetting Tobin, but needing to ask. Needing to _know_.

"I don't know yet," Tobin answers truthfully. "But how can I know the reward if I never take the risk? We deserve to be happy, Christen. And forcing myself into a relationship with a man is never going to make me as happy as I deserve to be. I'd get by, exist until I stop existing, but I wouldn't live. Not really. So I guess I'm willing to take that risk."

Christen nods. Hums again. She's lost in thought, pondering Tobin's words. Her face shows myriad emotions, but they're shifting so fast, Tobin's unable to read them all. When Christen looks up again, there are tears in her eyes. Her voice breaks as she starts to speak. "I took that risk and I lost my parents and my sisters. Then I took another and I lost my best friend and I can't help but think that I'm being punished for feeling the way I do. I risked it all, Tobin, but where's _my_ reward? When do _I_ finally get to be happy?"

Tobin's up and out of her seat, kneeling beside Christen as the distraught woman drops her head in her hands to hide the fact that she's crying. Tobin carefully lays a hand on the warm skin of Christen's knee, trying to offer some comfort. "I think," Tobin tells her as her other hand rubs circles on Christen's back, "that the only one punishing you is _you_. For Ben. And maybe even or getting kicked out of the family," Tobin callously adds. "The only one standing in the way of your happiness is this beautiful woman with a heart of gold who thinks you don't deserve to be loved and I don't know her that well yet, but I'm willing to give her a stern talking to."

Christen's muffled chuckle tells Tobin her joke landed somewhere safe. Message well received, it seems. Pressing a kiss to the side of Christen's head, Tobin gets up from her crouch in search of tissues and a glass of water. Crisis averted, for now, but she knows how hard it is to let go of these deep-seated doubts and fears. Despite her convictions on the topic of God and His acceptance of her sexuality, she still struggles with her religion every now and then, especially when her parents and _their_ deep-seated doubts and fears are involved. Living a life ruled by fear is no way to live, she decided a couple of years back. She'd been willing to risk it all for Alex Morgan, even knowing beforehand there'd be no reward in the end. She's in the same boat now with Christen, knowing there'll be no reward for her when she leaves here. All she can hope for is that her detour through Utah will help Christen heal some and that she'll have enough time to teach her to accept the fact that she _too_ deserves to be happy.

~

It takes another three days for Christen to return to her usual smiley self. Tobin keeps close in case she's needed, but she's not pushing for anything, a fact Christen seems to appreciate a lot. They're still talking, but not about anything important. They're still making eyes at each other, Christen's gaze lingering on Tobin's biceps, quads and calves while she's working and Tobin constantly biting her lip in an effort to stop the sounds wanting to escape her mouth when Christen prances past her in yet another short-ish summer dress. They're back to wanting to take the next step — whatever that entails — but not knowing how.

Since Torrey isn't exactly known for its bustling nightlife, Tobin has a hard time coming up with ideas for a date. She's thinking of preparing another picnic, but that means making use of the kitchen and _that_ means Christen will notice and ask questions. Call her a hopeless romantic, but she wants it to be a surprise, an opportunity to woo Christen the way she deserves. The only way to arrange it, is to stay behind when their next grocery run is due. A little suspicious by Tobin's adamant refusal to come along, Christen eventually takes off, literally leaving Tobin in her dust. As soon as the Chevy disappears around the canyon, Tobin sets to work, knowing she'll have at least two hours to whip up a three course meal for her lovely date.

As if on cue, Tobin hears the rumble of the Silverado's engine when she's wiping down the counters after two hours of slaving away in the kitchen. The smell of rosemary and garlic roasted potatoes permeates the air as she takes a final peek at the rack of lamb subtly sizzling underneath the broiler. Silently thanking her mother for her culinary lessons, she's actually pretty pleased with the outcome of her efforts. With a salad in the fridge and steamed veggies on the stove, she feels very accomplished, something Christen immediately picks up on when she enters the kitchen.

"What's all this?" She queries, taking in the smells as she sets two grocery bags on the kitchen table.

"I cooked," Tobin grins proudly, happy with the fact that Christen seems pleasantly surprised.

"So I see," she smiles back. "Something smells really, really good."

"Oh, that's probably me," Tobin jokes. "Thank you for noticing."

"Cute," Christen tells her. "But I'm smelling a lot of garlic, so I'd be careful making such claims."

"You like the smell, obviously," Tobin shrugs. "I could learn to live with it."

"Thank you for offering, but I like the way you usually smell just fine." The moment she says it, her eyes widen a bit as her mouth falls open.

Tobin's sort of dancing in her spot, she's so tickled by Christen's response and her reaction right after. "You like the way I _smell_? Christen Press, are you sweet on me or something?" Tobin teases while moving closer.

"Shut up," Christen giggles as she takes a step back every time Tobin takes one forward. All too soon, she feels the wall at her back and Tobin's still closing in on her. With only inches to spare between them, Tobin's triumphant face is the only thing filling her vision and God, what a vision it is. The brown of her irises seems darker than Christen has ever seen it and the teasing smirk — as witnessed mere seconds ago — turns smug and sly. Tobin seems playful, but there's a hint of danger in her eyes that tugs at the strings of Christen's baser urges. It's a lot, all of a sudden. Having Tobin _this_ close with _that_ look in her eyes overwhelms her, but in a good way? Part of her wants to flee, to back away from the edge of the cliff she keeps finding herself on. The other part is eager to learn how to fly, even if she isn't ready. Not really.

Astute as ever, Tobin senses playtime is over. Her eyes turn apologetic as she backs away, offering Christen the chance to catch her breath and her bearings. "I'm sorry."

Christen shakes her head in the negative, reaching for Tobin's hands, catching them with her own. "Don't be. I'm not afraid of you. Or … this," she promises as she squeezes Tobin's hands. "I like having you close. Okay?"

"Okay," Tobin sounds out on an exhale, finally letting all of the tension go. She likes being close to Christen, too, as her body is keen to let her know. It's a good thing she needs to freshen up before dinner, because a cold shower sounds like an awesome plan right now. "You wanna wash up and meet me in the kitchen in half an hour? I'd like to take you on an indoor dinner date."

Christen's nodding, already letting go of Tobin's hands to turn and leave the kitchen. When she's through the door and halfway up the stairs, she suddenly freezes as the words finally register in her brain.

"Wait!" She shouts back to the kitchen where Tobin's still grinning at a closed door. "Did you say _date_?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wasn't until I started writing the last part of this chapter when it suddenly hit me that I seem to write about grief, Tobin's religion (and subsequent struggles with sexuality) and food a lot. All matters of the heart for me, so I shouldn't be all that surprised, but still. I'm sensing some patterns, is all I'm saying 😅
> 
> Also, I know I'm not a fast-paced writer. I'm wordy and descriptive and I sometimes wonder if it makes my stories less fun to read. I wouldn't know how to write them differently, in all honesty, and wouldn't want to anyway, but feedback on this subject is very welcome. Since English isn't my first language, I tend to think it has something to do with my non-native speaking English vocabulary. That I need more words than a native speaking writer does because I just don't know the one word for something, so I need more? Does that make sense? Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this second part and if you did, I'd love to hear about it.
> 
> Come find me on Tumblr if you have questions, prompts or if you just want to have a chat.  
> Feel free to visit me @seawallfics


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